


Already Gone

by bigblueboxat221b



Series: Speaking in Tongues [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Drunk Dancing, M/M, Protective Big Brother Mycroft, Protective Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 22:12:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9348662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: Sherlock's determined to keep John happy and safe. Happy and safe. Safe and also happy...





	

“Water, John,” Sherlock said, and John laughed, then disappeared into the crowded bar. Two minutes later he was back with a pint of water and two shots of something blue.

Sherlock sighed but downed half the water, pressing the rest into John’s hand and insisting he drink it. He was here to keep an eye on John, after all, and hydration was important.

John offered Sherlock one of the shot glasses, and he frowned.

“What is it?” he shouted over the noise and music of the bar, but John either didn’t hear or didn’t bother to answer, just clinking with Sherlock and downing his in one go. Again, Sherlock did the same, his head swimming again at the sudden movements.

“Where is everyone else?” Sherlock asked, looking around the throng of people. John had insisted they invite Mike Stamford and a few of his other former classmates, but Sherlock hadn’t seen them for a while. He personally didn’t care, but John did, and Sherlock was here for John, to keep John happy, so he noticed and commented on their absence.

John screwed up his face in a slightly drunken version of a scowl. “I told them to bugger off,” he explained, shouting to be heard over the music. Sherlock looked shocked, so John elaborated, gesturing wildly. “They didn’t really like you, I think, and they weren’t. Very. Nice.” He emphasised these last three words by poking Sherlock in the chest with his finger. He grinned happily at Sherlock, who was still processing this.

“So you made them go away?” Sherlock asked.

John nodded, his attention distracted by the giant chicken dancing on stage with the band.

Sherlock was frustrated that he couldn’t keep John’s attention long enough to get a straight answer. It sounded like John had chosen to spend his evening with Sherlock rather than his friends, but that couldn’t be right. Sherlock was only here, on a pub crawl, for goodness sake, to keep John safe and happy so that he wouldn’t leave Sherlock.

The memory of their evening on the sofa last month, when John had overdosed on the cough mixture, was vivid in Sherlock’s mind. The image of John miming his own suicide haunted Sherlock. If they had not met, John Watson might not be alive. This had coalesced into one clear point: If John wasn’t happy, he might consider that option again, and that was not an acceptable outcome. Therefore, it was up to Sherlock to keep John happy and safe.

Hence, he was here, in this random pub, slightly drunk on bad beer and nameless spirits, trying to keep John happy and safe. He frowned. He was using the phrase ‘happy and safe’ a lot. Must be the beer. Happy and safe.

“Sherlock, it’s the Nutbush!” John shouted delightedly. Sherlock had no idea what he meant, except that a lot of people were making their way to the dance floor. John tugged him along, finding them a space and bopping along to the introductory chords of a song.

“What are we doing?” Sherlock shouted.

“The Nutbush!” John replied, and started dancing.

To Sherlock’s surprise, everyone around him was performing the same steps at the same time. Oh, a line dance. How boring.

“I don’t know this dance, John!” Sherlock tried to explain, but the people around him suddenly changed direction and John was facing away from him. Sherlock was startled, but gave up, following the people around him. Once he realised it was the same simple moves over and over, he was incredulous. Who would spend precious minutes of their life in the middle of a crowd doing the same tedious body movements over and over? He copied the motions in autopilot, watching John love every second of it, and thought that there might be a point, if you were watching someone else enjoy it.

After a few moments, the song ended. John made a loud sound of disappointment, and most of the people left the dance floor. He found Sherlock, and slung one arm around his waist for support.

“I can’t believe you can’t dance!” John said to Sherlock, a little out of breath from the exertion of the dancing.

Sherlock frowned. “Of course I can dance, John,” he said, affronted. “Just not that particular dance.”

John grinned at him. “What about the birdie dance?” His hands made little bird beaks and he started snapping them together while Sherlock looked at him like he’d grown another head. “The Bus stop?” he asked, twirling around and almost taking out the girl next to him.

“No,” Sherlock told him. “My dance training was a little different.”

John giggled at this, then said, “Another round! Stay right here, I’m buying.”  

Sherlock nodded, thinking. He clenched his jaw, the beer helping him make a decision. Before John returned, he headed over to the band, who were starting to pack up their equipment while some background music was piped out of their speakers. Sherlock spoke for a moment, handed over a considerable sum, then made his way back over to John, who had returned with their drinks.

“Leave it, and dance with me,” Sherlock said determinedly. He took the drinks from John and gave them immediately to the pair sitting closest to them, then grabbed John’s hand and pulled him over to the empty dance floor.

Most people had started leaving after the band finished, and they had the space to themselves. The strains of something came across the music system, something vaguely familiar, yet John couldn’t place it.

Sherlock was arranging his hands now, so that John’s left hand was on Sherlock’s right shoulder, his right hand encased in Sherlock’s left. Sherlock’s right hand came around John’s back, drawing him close, and Sherlock murmured, “Just relax and follow my lead, John.”

As the lyrics began, Sherlock began to dance, moving fluidly around the floor, guiding John as they went. Fortunately there was nobody else to negotiate around; despite Sherlock’s generally excellent balance, the alcohol he had consumed made it likely that he would crash, had there been too many obstacles. They moved well together, and Sherlock drew John closer, the one-two-three of their waltz coming naturally enough that he could concentrate on the smell of John’s hair, the feel of his hand in John’s smaller one. The lyrics seemed to roll around them, the words telling their story. Sherlock hoped John was listening; he could never be so eloquent about his emotions.

 

_All the things_

_That we’ve been through_

_You should understand me_

_Like I understand you…_

_We’ve all got our_

_Own funny moods,_

_I’ve got mine,_

_Lord, you’ve got yours too_

_Just trust in me_

_Like I trust in you_

_As long as we’ve been together_

_It should be so easy to do_

 

“What was that for?” John asked when the song finished. They were the only people on the dance floor, and Sherlock noticed most of the bar had emptied, in fact. As he made to release John’s hand and step out of their dance position, John gripped his hand, preventing the motion.

Sherlock looked at John, his eyebrows raised. “I told you I could dance.”

John looked intently at him for a long moment, and Sherlock felt his face burn, his heart race, and he swallowed hard. As John opened his mouth to speak, a figure appeared beside them, a tactful ‘ahem’ of a throat being cleared.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sherlock sputtered at his brother.

Mycroft simply smiled, though it did not reach his eyes.

John dropped Sherlock’s hand, clenching his left hand reflexively.

“As this establishment does not enjoy a…savoury reputation,” he said smoothly, “I felt it prudent to escort you both safely home.”

Sherlock scowled at Mycroft, and John, looking surprisingly sober, followed suit. Mycroft did not speak, and after a moment, Sherlock conceded the point, collecting their jackets and following him out.

The usual black car was waiting, and all three men piled in.

“You seem much more sober than earlier, John,” Sherlock said in an undertone.

John looked at Sherlock, an amused look on his face. “Dancing the Nutbush in a bar full of people doing the Nutbush does not make me drunk, Sherlock,” he grinned, then said, “I’m more likely to remember this than that night with your cough syrup alternative.” He looked severely at Sherlock for a minute before sitting up and sneaking a glance at Mycroft.

The older Holmes was looking on with a disapproving look. “May we go?” he asked pointedly, though his air of disdain was slightly tarnished by the giggles he elicited from both Sherlock and John.

“I think we’re already gone, Mycroft,” Sherlock managed, and he and John broke again into laughter as the car moved away towards their home at Baker Street.

**Author's Note:**

> The song that Sherlock requests is, [If You Don't Know Me By Now](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/simplyred/ifyoudontknowmebynow.html) by Simply Red. I have (slightly) changed the lyrics so they reflect an M/M pairing.


End file.
